You know that feeling. You buy some obscure brand of beer you have never tasted before, also because it's quite new to the market. You expect nothing special when you take it out of your fridge. Just another run-of-the-mill brew. The moment you taste and swallow it, you realise that you've been missing out on something great, because it sends cold, ecstatic joy down your throat. It tastes fresh, yet it carries subtle aftertastes of all the great beers you've tasted before. The glass is empty before you know it. You want more.

Can you define cool? It's something that's not necessarily brilliant, or inventive, or grounbreaking, or world-changing. It doesn't redefine anything, it doesn't discover new realms. But you love it anyway. It hits this part of your brain that expects simple pleasures, without justifying why they are so pleasant.

That's how I perceive Byfrost's debut album. It delightfully tickles my ears and massages my belly with its groovy, bassy rhythms and riffs. It spellbinds my hands so that I can't take the CD out of my player and I'm forced to press "play" again. Oh, it also sounds great in my car. It makes traffic jams a lot less unbearable. And it makes drivers around me look at me in bewilderment as I rock, jump, and do air-guitar to the sounds of Byfrost.

Do not miss out on those simple, un-pretentious pleasures. Let Byfrost bring you one.